


Blue

by ratherbefree



Series: jxaappreciationweek2016 [4]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbefree/pseuds/ratherbefree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Annie manages to persuade a (slightly drunk) Jeff to let her paint his nails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> id say this is set somewhere in s3-ish??
> 
> for jxaappreciationweek2016: "Day 4 (18 Aug 2016): Favorite JA headcanon, from any point in the show or future or past/missing scene or end tag fic"

Jeff’s hand is warm and sweaty in hers as she leads him to her bedroom. He’s slow and slump-y so she has to sort of half-drag him through the door, and Annie almost mistakes his uncooperativeness for reluctance - that is, until she sits him down in her fluffy-pillow-adorned desk chair, and he immediately places his hands flat on the surface, staring up at her expectantly. 

“So?” 

“Oh! Yes! Sorry. What colour do you want?” She reaches over for a drawer by his side - and yes, the brush of her hand against his stomach _may_ have been deliberate, but it was brief enough to be construed as accidental, and anyway, for once, Jeff doesn’t flinch away like she’s burned him. (Rather, she swears she can see the hint of a smirk playing at his drunken lips, and _oh boy_ she really wants to see where this goes.)

She places the tiny bottles in a straight line in front of him. Maroon, pink, purple (near empty), yellow, a variety of pastels, and then…

“That one.” He tries to point, but seemingly misjudges the distance between hand and polish, so the bottle topples over and goes rolling off the desk. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she replies, bending to grab it, and she’s grateful that he can’t see her face, because she’s pressing her lips together so tightly to prevent from laughing that she’d be worried he’d be scared away, if he could see. 

But then she straightens up and he definitely did see _something else_ because as soon as she turns around he snaps his gaze away, fleetingly pretending to study the spines of the textbooks she keeps on the shelf above her desk - and after a moment their eyes meet, for one hot-and-cold second. Annie feels all nervous and anticipatory, like she’s right at the top of a rollercoaster, waiting for her stomach to drop and her head to spin and the gravity falling away beneath her feet… And she thinks Jeff feels it, too. 

He looks away and clears his throat and pushes the other bottles of polish to the side. “So. Uh. Nails.” 

“Yes. Right.” She sets down the vial and crouches, awkwardly, beside the chair, right up on her knees so she’s at level with the desk-top. He turns to accommodate her position, sliding slightly closer. “‘You sure about this?”

“Duh.” 

She nods as if to say, _okay,_ before uncapping the bottle and tapping the little brush against the rim. When ready, she pinches his thumb to steady his hand and paints a practiced stripe across his nail. “Blue,” she muses, as she finishes the first. “Very manly.”

He just shrugs, uncaring (or unaware?) of her lame joke. 

Annie takes her time, ensuring each finger is perfectly painted before she moves onto the next, and Jeff pipes up again a minute or so later, when she’s finally reached his ring finger. 

“Has everyone left?” 

She wonders if he’s sincerely asking - if he truly doesn’t remember the events of a mere 20 minutes ago - or if, perhaps, it’s a veiled suggestion. “No,” she tries to sound cool. “Troy and Abed went back to the dreamatorium, and Britta passed out on the couch.” 

A calm, unaffected nod. 

His right hand is finished moments after, so she has to move around to his other side to start on the other. Jeff passes her the polish with a light, “You better not mess this up, Edison.” 

“I won’t.” 

She’s a lot less nervous now, so his left hand goes a lot quicker. Halfway through, she asks the question that’s been burning on the tip of her tongue since they started this whole thing. 

“How are your hands so soft?” 

It’s something she probably wouldn’t have said (out loud, at least) if it were any other time or situation, but something about the moment feels so intimate (he’s in her room, at night, no less) and she trusts him not to make a joke, pretend there’s some strange connotation in her words. _(Which. There. Isn’t.)_ If it were any other setting, he might remark about how strange it is to comment on the softness of another’s hands - and it isn’t strange, or at least, it shouldn’t be, because this sort of thing happens all the time between Annie and Shirley, or Britta. 

“Naturally perfect skin?” 

She snorts, which makes him catch her eye, which makes her smile, which makes him match hers with one of his own, which creates incessant butterflies in her stomach.

Annnnnnnd it’s probably about time to get back to work. 

She finishes off his pinkie with a flourish, feeling proud of herself despite the general insignificance of the task. “There. The colour even matches your eyes.” 

“Great.” He stands, offering her his non-drying hand to help her up. And lingers. 

Annie stares at him a moment, watching his expression change. Amusement, determination, then… Something else, and she’s never seen it on him before. He leans down until he’s in kissing range (and that’s still how she measures his distances, sometimes, ‘cause old habits die hard) so she tilts her head up to his and closes her eyes and waits-

And nothing happens. 

“I gotta go,” he murmurs, when she opens her eyes again. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” he continues, sounding as though he’s trying terribly, terribly hard to convince himself. “I’ve got to - I’ll get my coat and go.” 

For some reason her feet don’t seem to work anymore. She watches him leave and waits for the apartment door to slam, and drops the bottles of polish back into the drawer. 


End file.
